Unwell
by Attila the Hahn
Summary: It took a while, maybe six months, for Juice to show his face socially to anyone in the club at a time when it was not expected.


It took a while, maybe six months, for Juice to show his face socially to anyone in the club at a time when it was not expected. Of course, had it been at any time other than three o-fucking-clock in the morning, it maybe have been a little more welcomed.

"The fuck 'er yeh doin, prospect?" It had been a relaxing couple of days off, and the MC was taking it easy. Apparently, that amounted to Juice showing up on his doorstep in the middle of the night looking as if he had not slept in weeks.

Tears slid from Juice's eyes and he looked horrified. "Fuck, man. I didn't—I didn't realize the time and-" He froze in fright when Chibs grabbed him by his kutte and dragged him inside. He was about to be pummeled, kicked out of the club, killed, and buried in a shallow grave.

"Get me a beer and wash yer face, lad," Chibs said gruffly. His tone was considerably softer, but it didn't sink in as he nudged the younger man toward the kitchen.

It was a generic kitchen, small and messy, with nothing more than a fridge and a stove. The guy didn't even have a microwave. The small amount of counter space needed scrubbing and the dish strainer looked like it was used more for dish storage than a place to dry them. While it was not disgusting, the messiness made Juice's skin crawl.

He closed all the partially opened drawers and cabinets and looked at the small pile of dishes in the sink. There wasn't much, a mug with a few cigarette butts floating in it, three forks, and two bowls. A sound from the living room had him peeking in, and he felt horrible when he saw Chibs, now dressed in tattered sweats and a wifebeater, seeing a pretty girl in slept in makeup and skimpy clothes out the door.

"Didn't ask yer to clean my kitchen, lad," Chibs rebuked, stepping past Juice to the fridge. "Just need a beer." He passed one to Juice and opened his own.

"I'm so sorry, man," Juice said miserably. With the only witness out of the way, he was definitely a dead man. He followed Chibs into the living room and hovered in the middle of the floor while the older man dropped bonelessly onto the couch.

"No need to be sorry, prospect. You can scrub it til it sparkles in the daylight." His eyes glittered in what could either be amusement or danger. They were in no way expressive, especially to Juice. "Why don't yeh stop hovering like yer about to take off running and tell me what brings you here."

That was the issue of it. It was so stupid that Juice didn't want to admit to Chibs that he was a big baby. "I didn't know you had company," he said instead. "I walked-"

Chibs eyes narrowed at the boy's evasive maneuvers, but he could not help but respond. "You walked here? Christ, lad, you live ten miles-"

"Eight," Juice interjected. He gingerly seated himself in the recliner and propped his elbows on his knees.

"Eight miles away!" Chibs continued as if he had not been interrupted. "Idiot! It's near freezing outside an' you're wandering around as if you're takin' a merry walk in the park!"

Juice pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his kutte and passed them to Chibs, who shook one out with clear agitation. "I was homeless for two years," Juice said out of nowhere. "I've slept in worse than this."

A blue snake of smoke was released from the older man's lungs as he watched the younger man in front of him. Juice would likely not make it in SAMCRO. He was far too eager to please, and his feelings were too close to the surface. The club would eventually destroy him, and Chibs hated to think of what that would do to his conscience. He had killed men and felt nothing close to the guilt of what he would feel watching Juice harden. Even at that moment, Juice was unconsciously using his hoodie sleeve to wipe dust from the corner table, looking as if he wanted to both take his words back and vomit more feelings out.

"Aye," Chibs finally responded. No one knew much about Juice except he had no family to speak of and some killer computer skills. Tig was convinced he was retarded, while Jax swore he just needed guidance.

"I'm not good on my own," Juice finally admitted. "Sitting in my apartment for two days, I felt the walls closing in and my thoughts became too much..."

Chibs nodded slowly, accepting it at face value. Everyone in the club had their issues. Everyone also handled them in different ways—Tig with his fucked up predilections, everyone else with alcohol and various other substances. "I don't mind company," he finally said. "Probably not gonnae offer yeh my bed, but I'm willing to drink some beer with you."

Juice's mouth quirked in his goofy, naive grin. He really did tend to look like a simpleton when he did that.

The next few hours were spent in easy company as Juice found a late night movie. Chibs's commentary kept things interesting, and he responded the best he could. The sleepless days caught up with him, however, and he fell asleep to the sounds of gunfire and derisive comments from Chibs.

_All day staring at the ceiling  
Making friends with shadows on my wall  
All night hearing voices telling me  
That I should get some sleep  
Because tomorrow might be good for something_


End file.
